


Two Stories

by Lenore



Series: Bric-a-Brac Verse [6]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-12
Updated: 2007-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two sides to every story, so here are two stories of Baby McKay's entry into the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Stories

**April 12, 2007, 10:12 a.m.**

The consultation before the C-section is mostly a matter of calming nerves and answering questions. Rodney's last checkup looked good, and the surgery is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. It's rare that Carson has the luxury of discussing a procedure in advance with a patient, and Rodney can always use a little extra settling down. Carson figures if he spends half an hour with Rodney calling him a witch doctor and reminding him that this is a future Nobel Prize winner he's delivering, they'll be good to go.

Rodney arrives for his appointment with Colonel Sheppard in tow, not surprisingly, and Carson waves them to the chairs in front of his desk. "Make yourselves comfortable."

He takes them step-by-step through what to expect, and Rodney doesn't interrupt once, which _is_ rather startling. There's not so much as a snide remark about Carson's proficiency as a surgeon when he gives them the standard disclaimer, that although this is a perfectly safe procedure any surgery has its risks. Rodney just sits there listening, his eyes big and panicky, hands gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles white with strain. Honestly, Carson has seen people with intestinal viruses who have better color, and it's oddly unsettling to have Rodney too terrified to complain.

He tries to offer reassurance, "You've no cause for concern. Truly, Rodney."

But Rodney isn't listening. He's looking grim-faced at John. "I want you to raise the baby if something happens to me. I don't care what some blood test says."

"Nothing is going to happen to you," John insists.

"He's right, Rodney," Carson assures him.

Rodney glares impatiently. "You were too afraid to stick a needle in there! Because you said you have no idea if my not-quite-a-uterus is the same as an actual uterus. What makes you think cutting me open and pulling the kid out of there is going to be so much simpler?" He turns an even sicklier shade of gray, as if he's visualizing the process.

John takes a turn trying to comfort him, "It's going to be okay. _You're_ going to be okay."

Again, Rodney isn't listening. "I should probably sign something making you the guardian. A will. I don't have a will." He frowns. "I can't believe I came to _another galaxy_ without even making a will."

" _Rodney_ ," John says, struggling to remain patient, and Carson imagines that many of their conversations must go like this.

"Just promise me, okay?" Rodney looks a little pleading.

John starts to go pale, as well. "Okay. But nothing's going to happen to you." It sounds suspiciously like an order.

  
After they leave, Carson spends some time reviewing the surgery. He hasn't delivered a baby since his obstetrics rotation in medical school. His resident was a big bear of a man, Jimmy Finley, as tall as a doorframe and nearly as wide, with bushy blonde hair and a grizzled beard, an unlikely character to find in the halls of the maternity ward, amidst the pastel murals of teddy bears and butterflies. The extent of the wisdom Dr. Finley had to impart about bringing babies into the world was, "Not much to it, really. The mother does all the work. You just have to make sure you don't drop the kid when it finally pops out."

Like some kind of curse, because the first birth Carson attended, everything was going along according to the proverbial textbook, a short labor, the woman's third child. The baby crowned, and the shoulders cleared, and Carson got ready to catch him, and there he went, right through Carson's hands. The nurse scrambled to pick the child up, and thank God, no harm done. But Carson can still hear that terrible plop if he thinks about it, new life meeting the hard, cold tile floor. If he drops Rodney's baby, it's not just Rodney who'll be out for blood. He'll have half of Atlantis to contend with.

 _I will not drop Rodney's baby_ becomes his own personal mantra for the next thirty-six hours.

  
Rodney elects to be awake for the surgery, so Carson administers an epidural—after Rodney finishes explaining why it will imperil two galaxies if Carson botches the job and ends up paralyzing him. It's something of a relief to have Rodney bitching again, which is not an opinion Carson ever expected to hold.

Colonel Sheppard dons a set of scrubs and stands at Rodney's shoulder to offer encouragement. The surgical team sets up a screen to shield them from the sight of cutting, but still, they both look rather green around the gills, as if they might pass out at the slightest provocation.

"Just keep breathing," Carson tells them.

Some things really are like riding a bike, Carson is happy to discover once they get underway. He makes a lateral incision in Rodney's lower abdomen, opening Rodney's not-quite-a-uterus, and there's the baby's head, right where it's supposed to be. He pulls her out, and newborns aren't any less slippery now than they were twenty years ago. Happily, Nurse Prescott is quickly at hand with a towel and a sure grip. He cuts the umbilical cord and checks the clock on the wall. 10:12 a.m., that's what the birth certificate will read. The nurse puts the baby on the warmer, and Carson suctions the fluid out of her lungs, while Dr. Biro takes over working on Rodney.

When Carson has checked the baby over, he carries her around to Rodney. "Why don't you hold your daughter while we finish closing the incision?"

Carson nestles her into his arms, and Rodney stares and stares. "Oh my God. You're an actual _person_. "

John can't take his eyes off the baby either, his fingers curled tightly around Rodney's shoulder, as if he wants to reach out, touch a tiny foot, a tiny hand, just to convince himself that she's real, but he doesn't quite dare.

Suturing takes a good half hour, and by the time they're finished, Rodney has grown possessive of his daughter.

"Just let us get her cleaned up while we move you to recovery," Carson reasons with him. "I'll test the blood from the umbilical cord to see—" He glances awkwardly at John and clears his throat. "To see."

The mantra starts up again. Only this time it's: _Please let Colonel Sheppard be the other father._ He doesn't know how he'll tell them if that's not the case, and the mantra grows a little more frantic as he runs the test. Thanks to the wonders of Ancient-enhanced technology, he has the results shortly enough. He takes a big breath, and Nurse Prescott brings him the baby, washed and freshly diapered, her fist curled against her mouth. He carries her into the recovery room, where Rodney is waiting not so patiently, but Carson ignores him and hands the baby to John. "Congratulations, Colonel. You and Rodney have a lovely and perfectly healthy wee lass."

John just stares, as if the words are taking their time filtering in, and then he looks down at the tiny, squirming thing in his arms, and his expression goes utterly bleak with terror. Carson can just imagine the new parent spiral of panic, _She's completely helpless, and why haven't I childproofed my quarters, and someday I'll have to teach her how to drive, and if she's anything like Rodney, I'll be paying for higher education until I'm dead_.

Carson claps him cheerfully on the back. "Welcome to the rest of your life, lad."

Rodney looks on, his expression almost jarringly tender, for about a second, and then he's back to being Rodney. "Gimme," he demands, hands outstretched for his daughter.

The Colonel hands her over good-naturedly, settling on the edge of the bed.

Rodney tells the baby, "I hope you appreciate all the trouble I went to for you." The many kisses he presses to the top of her head belie any attempt at sternness, however.

The well-wishers waiting outside have long since grown restless, so Carson gives the go ahead to let them in. They crowd around the bed. Elizabeth makes "awwww" sounds, and Radek waves to the baby, and Teyla studies her carefully.

"I believe congratulations are in order," she says to Colonel Sheppard.

"How did you know?" Rodney asks curiously.

Teyla smiles. "There is a very strong resemblance."

Rodney gives his baby a long look of scrutiny. "Oh, great. I'm going to spend the rest of my life fighting off no-good losers trying to get their grubby hands on my daughter." He glares at John. "All because _you_ have to have the pretty gene."

"So, what are you going to call her?" Ronon sensibly interrupts.

John and Rodney exchange the kind of measuring looks that Carson has only ever seen at the negotiation table. Or when he's playing poker.

"Just not Theano," John puts his foot down. "I don't think the kids on the playground are going to care that she's named for the wife of Pythagoras."

"Who made her own contributions to math," Rodney insists indignantly. "Principle of the Golden Mean? Ever heard of it?"

" _Playground_ , Rodney."

Rodney sighs and mutters something about not letting other people's ignorant brats make their decisions for them, but finally he concedes, "Fine, if she's not going to be the namesake of the matriarch of mathematics, then let's call her Molly."

John appears utterly blindsided by this, although in a good way. "Are you sure?"

"She _does_ look like you," Rodney says. "So she may as well be named after your mother. Molly Sheppard McKay." He smiles down at the baby. "It's got a ring to it, don't you think?"

John's eyes get suspiciously bright, his voice tight. "Thanks, Rodney."

Rodney sniffs. "Only because you refused to comprehend the glory of Theano." But there's a hint of pink in his cheeks that suggests he's actually quite pleased that John's happy.

Newly named, Molly starts to shriek her head off, and Rodney scowls at Carson. "What did you and your staff of voodoo practitioners do to her while I wasn't looking?"

Carson rolls his eyes. "She's hungry, Rodney. That happens with babies."

"Oh." Rodney glances down at Molly, who is by now red-faced and sobbing. "I get a little cranky too when I haven't eaten."

John raises an eyebrow. "A little?"

Rodney makes a face at him.

Nurse Prescott brings a bottle of formula and shows Rodney how to hold it, and Molly tucks eagerly into her dinner.

"She eats like McKay," Ronon observes.

Rodney narrows his eyes at Ronon, but can't quite conceal his pride that his daughter takes after him in the healthy appetite department.

"Sorry about the formula and the food allergies you're probably going to develop as a result of it," Rodney tells Molly conversationally. "But Ancient technology can only subvert nature so far, and let's face facts, with half your genetic makeup coming from me, there wasn't much chance you _weren't_ going to end up living in terror of entire food groups."

John presses a kiss to Rodney's temple, with a bemused smile. "Way to think positive there, McKay."

"Oh, you know it's true!"

John toys with Molly's foot, and she kicks at his hand, as if she doesn't appreciate being bothered while she's eating. "I don't know. She seems pretty hearty to me. Kind of strong-willed, too." He grins fondly. "I can't imagine where she gets that from."

Molly finishes her meal, and lets out a fairly resounding belch for someone so small. The nurse takes the bottle away, and Rodney starts to shift uncomfortably. He glares accusingly at Carson. "What did you sew up inside me?"

"That's the pain medication wearing off. You'll be needing another dose."

Rodney is reluctant to let go of the baby, even long enough to let Carson make him feel better, but at last, he grudgingly turns Molly over to her other father. Carson takes care of Rodney, and everyone else crowds around John, cooing at Molly.

"Feel free to praise her intelligence and beauty as extravagantly as you like," Rodney instructs them, the pain meds already giving him a loopy smile. Or maybe that's simply happiness. Carson's not sure he's ever seen that on Rodney before.

When Rodney starts to yawn, however, that's definitely the medication at work, and Carson begins to herd everyone out. "Rodney needs his rest. You can come back later this afternoon."

Just Sheppard-McKays left at last, and John plants his feet, pulls the baby into his chest, with a look that dares Carson to try to make him go.

Carson holds up a hand. "I assume you'll want to stay with Rodney and the baby. I'll have a cot brought in for you tonight. Molly will need to eat every two hours or so, and Rodney, until your stitches come out, you leave picking up the baby to Colonel Sheppard."

Rodney mutters "okay," already half asleep.

"In a few days, as long as the incision is healing nicely, you can all go home together."

Now that she's full, Molly is dozing, drooling on John's t-shirt. He rocks her gently and kisses her forehead, and Carson says, "You might want to put her down for a nap while she's still in a mood to go."

John is no more eager to part with his daughter than Rodney was, but he gives in to common sense. He settles Molly onto her back in the crib and pulls the blanket Katie Brown made up over her. Molly shifts, makes a fitful noise, and then falls promptly back to sleep.

"Let us know if you need anything," Carson tells John.

"Thanks, doc. For everything."

John heads over to Rodney's bedside. Carson starts out the door, and doesn't know what makes him glance back, but when he does, he sees John carefully drape his arm across Rodney's chest and press a kiss to his head. "I wanted her to be mine so much."

Rodney has his eyes closed, and he smiles sleepily, brings his hand up to touch John's arm. "I know, and I love you too, but don't think you're going to sweet talk me into having any more of your children."

John grins, and Carson walks on, leaves them alone to begin their life as a family. He settles down at his desk with a stack of charts to review, and he thinks that if anyone else takes a notion to get pregnant, whether it's an accident with alien technology or simply the old-fashioned way, at least he's got the whole not dropping the baby thing under control now.

* * *

  
 **The Loudness of Gestures**

It's only four o'clock in the afternoon, but the lab is quiet and still. Most everyone has gone off to celebrate Molly Sheppard McKay, the first child born in Atlantis in 10,000 years. Word of the name spread quickly, and by lunchtime, Sergeant Ames was counting his winnings, the lucky guesser in the "Name The Baby" pool.

Only Miko and Dr. Kavanagh remain, seated side by side at the workbench, staring into their respective computers as if they're each alone.

When Miko was twelve, her father paid her the first and only compliment, "You are as quiet as a butterfly's wings."

Or at least, it was a compliment to her father's way of thinking.

Miko knows that her silence is often misinterpreted. To her father, it meant modesty, and many people believe she is shy, and there was an American doctoral student she dated in grad school who once told her, "You're too in love with thinking to care about talking, aren't you?"

None of this is particularly the case. Miko just experienced a disappointment with words early in life, the way they never quite match up to what you see or feel or imagine, how hard it is to say even a fraction of what you mean, and she's not put much faith in talking since.

Being quiet makes people often forget she's even there, and sometimes Miko ends up knowing things she probably shouldn't. She knows, for instance, that Dr. Kavanagh's relationship to words is just as awkward as her own.

The first argument he had with Rodney over the baby concerned graduate programs in physics, of all ridiculous things.

"Of course, she'll go to MIT," Dr. Kavanagh proclaimed. "She'll have the best opportunities there."

Rodney puffed up indignantly. "She'll go to the University of Chicago, thank you very much. I practically put that school on the map. They owe me nothing short of slavish devotion to my daughter's education."

Then there was the debate—that's what they called it at least—about which pioneering female mathematician was more worthy of having a namesake.

"Theano was the first, at least the first who made it into recorded history, that makes her the best," Rodney argued.

To which Dr. Kavanagh snorted loudly. "She was someone's wife. Emilie du Châtelet was one of the greatest mathematicians of the eighteenth century, all in her own right."

But the ugliest fight—there was no other word for it—was whether the baby should stay in Atlantis once she was born or be taken back to Earth.

"Are you insane?" Kavanagh demanded, his face turning almost frighteningly red. "Have you forgotten the part where there are space vampires trying to kill us all? Or that we've made an enemy of practically every advanced race in this galaxy? Or that the station itself is still largely a mystery and we could just accidentally blow ourselves up one day?"

"This is where she belongs," was all Rodney had to say about it, and he curtly turned on his heel and walked away.

Only a quiet person truly hears the loudness of gestures, Miko feels certain, and Rodney is not a quiet person. So he has taken for granted the power bars that just mysteriously appeared at his work station, never once noticed Dr. Kavanagh's too perfect absence of expression when he glanced around to see who might have left them for him. Rodney thought nothing of Dr. Kavanagh's insistence that the Ancient equipment needed more regular diagnostics, never peered over his shoulder to see him checking and rechecking that the radiation levels were safe. Rodney missed entirely the backward glance when Dr. Kavanagh went off to help Dr. Zelenka during the Wraith attack, the forlorn resignation of a man who might never see his child born.

Miko has been practically deafened by all of this.

It's not actually possible for the sound of laughter and backslapping and "congratulations, Colonel Sheppard" to travel this far from the mess hall, but it echoes in the room with them nonetheless. Dr. Kavanagh stares stubbornly straight ahead at his computer, and pretends to notice nothing, feel nothing, but Miko knows.

Her first year in her doctoral program, maybe it was loneliness or an unfortunate case of hero worship that made her think it was a good idea to sleep with her advisor, a married man with three children. It happened just a few times before she came to her senses, and they were always so careful. But still, the next month the usual day for her period came and went. And went. And went. And went.

Then on the fifth day, she woke up with cramps and a backache and stained underwear. Just a false alarm, and she should have been relieved, and mostly she was. But there was a little part of her, the place where distant possibilities took on a life of their own and flourished so vividly, that mourned losing what she'd never actually had.

Miko looks straight ahead at her own computer, and she knows it all worked out for the best back then, just as it has now. Rodney and Colonel Sheppard and Molly will be a family, in the true sense of the word. And yet, Dr. Kavanagh stares at his work as if it's the only thing he has in the whole of the universe, and Miko is not deaf.

She reaches out and settles her hand gently on top of his. That he doesn't pull away speaks volumes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who voted in the "Name Rodney's Baby" poll, and special thanks to [](http://girlnamedpixley.livejournal.com/profile)[**girlnamedpixley**](http://girlnamedpixley.livejournal.com/) for suggesting Molly and [](http://pun.livejournal.com/profile)[**pun**](http://pun.livejournal.com/) for helping me decide on it.


End file.
